


Bad Boys Too

by skuldchan



Category: HIStory3 - 圈套 | HIStory3: Trapped
Genre: A little bit of knifeplay, M/M, Married Jack and Zhao Zi, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Canon, Roleplay, Shameless Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-29
Updated: 2020-03-29
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:21:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23375332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skuldchan/pseuds/skuldchan
Summary: Having been roped into Tang Yi and Meng Shao Fei’s role reversal roleplay, Jack and Zhao Zi decide to keep the fun going by themselves.
Relationships: Jack | Fang Liang Dian/Zhao Li An | Zhao Zi
Comments: 24
Kudos: 197
Collections: March Madness





	Bad Boys Too

**Author's Note:**

  * For [clevermanka](https://archiveofourown.org/users/clevermanka/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Playing Cops and Robbers](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23117341) by [clevermanka](https://archiveofourown.org/users/clevermanka/pseuds/clevermanka). 



> This work is a spin-off of and inspired by clevermanka's _Playing Cops and Robbers_. I highly recommend that you read that work before this one!

Zhao Zi twitched as the front door shut with a resounding slam, his own haste combined with a sudden gust of wind to startle him. He looked about guiltily, as if just the noise might give away what was transpiring in the house to Tang Yi’s neighbors. It was an utterly ridiculous thought—Tang Yi lived in the part of town where everyone had a gated driveway, a security perimeter, and minded their own multi-million dollar businesses, but Zhao Zi still flushed self-consciously as he gulped down a few deep breaths to calm down his hammering heart.

Ah-Fei owed him one, big time, Zhao Zi thought, once he regained enough composure to make his way from Tang Yi’s porch to his driveway without scurrying. It was one thing, theoretically, to help his best friend bring a little spice to his sex life, it was another thing to witness Tang Yi’s lips about to slide around the barrel of that plastic pistol. Now that Zhao Zi was out of the house, he could have sworn that even more obscene things were happening to that toy gun. Not to mention the naked desire in Tang Yi’s expression as he watched Ah-Fei.

Is that what he looked like when he knelt in front of Jack? Zhao Zi wondered. 

Probably. 

Definitely. 

Not that it was a bad thing for Tang Yi to want Shao Fei that much, or for him to want Jack in the same way, but the tension in Tang Yi’s kitchen had been so thick he could have sliced it with a knife. And on top of that, it had done things to him. He was going to need a hand from Jack, Zhao Zi thought unhappily as he adjusted himself in his trousers. He was simultaneously eager for and dreading the long ride back to their house, with his chest pressed against Jack’s back, his arms wound around Jack’s waist, and the pleasant rumble of the motorcycle engine between his legs.

Zhao Zi flushed, flustered by his own thoughts. It wasn’t until he reached the center of the driveway that he realized something was amiss. Jack was supposed to be here, waiting for him. 

He looked around, but there was neither sight nor sound of the man or the motorcycle.

Where was he?

“Fancy finding you here, Zhao Li An.”

Zhao Zi jumped, startled for a second time that night, unable to restrain a high-pitched squeak as his heart leapt into his throat. He whirled behind him to find his husband standing only a few steps away, on the very path Zhao Zi had just walked down, as if he’d been there the whole time. 

“Jack!”

“You set this up with Lao Meng, didn’t you?” Jack’s lips widened into a dangerous grin as he approached.

Zhao Zi blinked. “What?”

“Good thing I followed them too. I’ve been trying to track you down for a very, very long time.” Jack circled Zhao Zi slowly, appraising him as a wolf might stalk its prey.

Except Zhao Zi wasn’t prey. He had been so addled by what Shao Fei and Tang Yi had been doing to each other in the house that he’d only just remembered that he and Jack had agreed earlier in the day to keep the roleplay going themselves. It would be a pity to waste such a good setup, otherwise.

Zhao Zi tried to conjure the character he was supposed to be, ignoring the way his heart was still fluttering from Jack’s scare. He was Zhao Li An, Boss Meng’s childhood friend and right-hand man, often underestimated by his enemies due to his innocent manner and his unimposing stature. But he was wily and slippery, and had helped Boss Meng rise to the top of the syndicate by being clever and ruthless enough to get rid of everyone who had stood in their way. He was both feared and venerated by the gang, and his only weakness was a secret attraction to men with fingerless gloves and red hair. He’d been nursing a casual interest in one particular detective for a while now.

“Oh?” Zhao Zi asked, aiming for arch, and hoping he was landing most of the way there. “You must be one of Officer Tang’s underlings.”

A shrug. “You can call me Jack.”

“Jack,” Zhao Zi whispered the name, rolling it off his tongue, and the shiver that saying his husband’s name gave him was real. He wanted to say it again, but he caught the way that Jack’s spine stiffened ever so slightly, and had the feeling that might lead to the scenario escalating too quickly. He didn’t want to spend the next three days nursing bruised knees from kneeling right there on the asphalt, in the open air of Tang Yi’s driveway. “That’s not your real name,” Zhao Zi said instead. “Is it?”

“No. But if you want to hear it, you’re going to have to come with me.” Jack made a helpless gesture. He didn’t make the rules, he just followed them.

Zhao Zi let out a cackle, but it sounded more like a giggle. Undercover work really wasn’t his forte. That applied to Jack too, who was supposed to be playing the straight-laced copper, determined to uphold the law. Only, Jack’s inner bad boy—or rather just Jack—was showing instead. Not that Zhao Zi minded that his husband was playing a slightly more police-y version of himself. Jack’s inherent Jack-ness was one of his most attractive features. 

“And what makes you think I’ll do that?” Zhao Zi continued.

“Because in five seconds, I’m going to have you in handcuffs.”

“I’d like to see you—”

Before Zhao Zi could finish his sentence, Jack moved, swift and silent in the dimly lit driveway. One moment he was there, in front of Zhao Zi, and the next he was at Zhao Zi’s side, fingers lightly wrapping around his wrist. There had been no signal that Jack had been about to pounce, no give-away like the coiled, spring-like tension that Zhao Zi had seen other criminals exhibit when attempting to escape arrest. It was as if Jack could summon his speed from out of thin air. 

Like all detectives who graduated from the academy, Zhao Zi had learned the fundamentals of how to subdue a criminal, how to twist someone’s arm behind their back, how to use human joints as levers and fulcrums. It was something he did on the regular, and the movements had become rote. But Jack was on a different level, and Zhao Zi was frequently on the receiving end of random flailing, not trained, precision strikes. Before Zhao Zi could even think of resisting, Jack seized him and tipped him off-balance. When Zhao Zi was yanked back to his feet again, both his wrists were clamped behind his back. In that space of time, he had only managed to draw one breath. 

“There.” Jack smiled, vulpine. Over the years of their relationship, he had taught Zhao Zi a few moves—some tricks he had picked up from his Black Ops training—not that he had given Zhao Zi any opportunity to put them to any use here. That was hardly of fair of him. Zhao Zi struggled against his bonds with indignance, and not all of it was pretend struggling.

“Walk,” said Jack, his voice harsh and gravelly in Zhao Zi’s ear, a firm hand on the cold metal cuffs. He gave Zhao Zi a shove forward. Zhao Zi stumbled a few steps, but then stopped, refusing to budge.

“It seems I’m going to have to get a little rough,” Jack remarked. 

Well, they were going to have to get home somehow. It would have been a lot more realistic to have Jack stuff him into the back of a police vehicle, but they didn’t own a car; all they had was Jack’s motorcycle. Then he realized what Jack was getting at with his threat and felt a wave of heat pulse through his entire body, rekindling the arousal that had faded slightly when Jack had surprised him. Jack had only ever bodily hauled him around against his will that one time, in the very beginning of their relationship. Zhao Zi remembered the feeling of Jack’s shoulder pressed into his pelvis, the sensation of Jack’s arm wrapped around the back of his thighs, steadying him. He tried to think of what a mafia underboss would really say that would have the effect he wanted. 

“Don’t think I’m going to make anything easy for you police pigs.” Zhao Zi curled his lip.

“Suit yourself,” said Jack, as if resistance was exactly what he wanted. He threw Zhao Zi over his shoulder with ease. More carefully this time than the last, probably because Zhao Zi’s balance was thrown off by his arms trapped behind his back. But Jack still held him securely, and Zhao Zi didn’t feel as if he was going to pitch head first onto the ground. 

“You good?” Jack asked under his breath, breaking character to check up on Zhao Zi.

“Mm-hmm,” Zhao Zi nodded. Color rose in his cheeks, and it wasn’t just because he was hanging face down. Jack was the kindest, most caring husband, Zhao Zi thought, as his chest swelled with love and his groin with arousal.

Jack deposited Zhao Zi down on his motorcycle, which he had hidden in the shadows of the brick wall that separated Tang Yi’s private property from the public road. Zhao Zi was handled with such gentleness that for a moment he wondered if they were still roleplaying.

“Let’s see how you like the precinct,” said Jack. “There’s an interrogation suite with your name on it.”

Oh good, they were still playing, thought Zhao Zi with relief, not wanting the game to end so early.

“My own room, how special. I’m flattered that you’d want to question me by yourself. Are we going to be at it all night long?” Zhao Zi drew out those last three words, as Jack settled down on the motorcycle behind him. 

Jack unlocked his handcuffs, because safety first. Zhao Zi assumed they were supposed to be out-of-game actions and continued to pretend that his wrists were still bound. And then they were off. 

Even though it was late enough at night that there wasn’t much traffic, Zhao Zi still flushed at the proximity of his husband’s body, Jack’s chest pressed against his shoulders, one arm coming to rest possessively on his waist when they sped down the long straight roads. His hands, which he held behind his back, were scrunched up against Jack’s crotch. He wondered if his husband was half-hard like he was, and reached out curiously to confirm.

Oh, yes. Yes, he was.

Jack grunted, as Zhao Zi’s fingertips brushed denim, and the unmistakable stiffness beneath. So his husband was liking this very, very much. Pleased, Zhao Zi continued to probe, curling his fingers around the contour of Jack’s cock.

“Do you really think it’s wise for us to go to the precinct?” Zhao Zi asked, when they were stopped for a red light, after many long minutes of having teased Jack through his pants. “Something tells me you’d rather we negotiate somewhere first. In private.”

Jack hissed as Zhao Zi gave him a mischievous squeeze. But Jack said, “Not a chance.”

Zhao Zi’s face went flat, and he grasped Jack’s cock through layers of thick fabric, stroking with insistent pressure. Jack shuddered, involuntarily arching into Zhao Zi’s grip with a low moan. 

“You will take me somewhere private,” Zhao Zi demanded, punctuating each word by moving his hand along Jack’s hardening length. “And we will find it mutually beneficial.”

It wasn’t until Zhao Zi lifted the pressure a little that Jack responded. “You drive a hard bargain, Lao Zhao,” he said, with grudging reluctance.

Zhao Zi cringed at Jack’s criminally terrible pun. If this had been any other night, Zhao Zi would have groaned loudly, punched Jack in the arm—playfully, of course—and then Jack would have followed up with more, each worse than the last, until Zhao Zi would have to shut him up with a kiss. And then they would end up falling into bed together once they got home, a tangle of laughter and teasing, and have sex until they exhausted themselves. But this was not supposed to be a normal night, so Zhao Zi had to consider how Mafia Underboss Zhao Li An would respond. 

“This isn’t my first ride around the block.”

Jack let out a long breath, and Zhao Zi continued to tease him as the traffic light turned green. By the time they turned off the broad, commercial boulevards and into the quiet residential areas, Jack was breathing heavily.

Jack parked the bike in the usual spot in front of their house, and dragged Zhao Zi onto his feet. 

“We’re here,” Jack said abruptly, leaving out where ‘here’ was supposed to be in-game. Safehouse? Or was this Detective Jack’s private residence? Was Detective Jack the type of man who would bring a high-ranking member of organized crime into his own home? Zhao Zi realized that he himself had certainly done exactly that on the promise of a home-cooked meal, before he’d known that Jack was an Interpol plant. 

Zhao Zi allowed himself to be marched up his own garden and through his own front door, still pretending he was handcuffed. He pressed his body against Jack, and was pleased to find his husband leaning subconsciously into the contact. He shrugged off the cuff from one wrist, the freed hand diving into the pocket of Jack’s leather jacket. He leered at his husband, predatory, his fingers closing about the hilt of Jack’s butterfly knife.He brought it out with a slow flourish, folding the blade and resting it lightly against Jack’s neck. 

Jack’s brows rose in surprise.

“Gotcha.” Zhao Zi smirked triumphantly, certain that his husband’s pupils weren’t just dilating because their porch was still dark. “Hands up, my dear detective.”

Slowly, Jack’s hands rose. He couldn’t hide the ghost of a smile, pricking up the corners of his mouth. Despite his attempts to school his face to neutrality, delight still seeped through, the anticipatory thrill of Zhao Zi threatening him at knifepoint. Zhao Zi stole a quick glance downward, and noted that Jack was aroused, moreso than Zhao Zi had ever seen through his jeans.

Zhao Zi pressed the edge more firmly against Jack’s skin and growled, “Now, you are going to do exactly what I tell you. One false move, and your little police friends are gonna find you in a ditch with a new smile carved into your neck. Do you understand?”

“Is this how you open all your negotiations, Lao Zhao?”

“Take it or leave it,” said Zhao Zi, making very clear that the ‘leave it’ option meant the aforementioned ditch.

“I don’t see that I have a choice,” Jack murmured, acquiescing but still spoken like a challenge, his gaze on Zhao Zi smouldering and heavy. It made the desire in the depths of Zhao Zi’s belly flare, like pouring gasoline on a fire.

Continuing as if his husband hadn’t just weakened him with one look, Zhao Zi nodded at the glass door that led into their house. “Inside,” he ordered, and Jack obeyed. 

They maneuvered slowly, Zhao Zi still pressing the blade into Jack’s neck, using the proximity as an excuse to find every opportunity to grind their bodies together. As soon as the door closed behind them, Zhao Zi backed Jack into the wall adjacent to the stairs. 

“What do you want?”

Zhao Zi pretended to think about it, if only to draw out Jack’s anticipation. “You,” he said finally, and pressed his thigh between Jack’s knees for emphasis, a demonstration of who was in charge here.

“You’re not here for Lao Meng’s release?”

“Tch. I think he has your Officer Tang under his control,” Zhao Zi sneered. “I’m here, just for me.”

With his hands still up and his back against the wall, the rest of Jack’s body was open for the fondling. Zhao Zi pressed his face close to Jack’s, sporting his most predatory grin. He unzipped Jack’s leather jacket with his free hand, revealing a faded navy t-shirt which draped from the planes of Jack pectorals, offering a hint of their contour. But even a hint was enough to rouse Zhao Zi’s appetite—he wanted nothing more than to dig his fingers into the firm muscle. He restrained himself, but only just. Instead, he pushed up the hem of the shirt and ran his fingers along his husband’s abdominals. 

Jack’s stomach trembled beneath Zhao Zi’s touch, and he grimaced with poorly suppressed giggles, his shoulders quivering. “That tickles! You have to do it harder.”

Zhao Zi let out an exasperated sigh. He moved the blade to the other side of Jack’s neck, the icy, sharp steel startling him out of his burgeoning laughter. “Maybe I meant to—” 

Zhao Zi stopped mid-sentence as he noticed a thin line of bright red appear on Jack’s skin, thickening right before his eyes in the location knife edge had been. 

“Oh, shit!” Zhao Zi backed a step away. “You’re bleeding!”

“I am?” Jack asked. Casually, He wiped two fingers across the neat line where his own blade had nicked his capillaries, and blinked at the small smear of blood that came away. “Huh. Guess so.”

“Are you okay?” 

“It’s just a little blood. I’ve been through worse.”

“Doesn’t it hurt? Maybe I should—”

Strong fingers wrapped themselves around Zhao Zi’s wrist, and Jack pulled him back to where he had stood before, their bodies aligned, pressed one over the other.

“I’m fine,” Jack assured him, and then to drive his point home, he licked his fingers with cheeky flash of pink tongue. “Where were we?”

Zhao Zi swallowed nervously. Jack couldn’t see, but the cut at his neck, as shallow as it might be, even if it wasn’t hurt him, was beginning to well with blood again. “Is there something else I can do with the knife?” 

“I can think of a lot of things.”

Zhao Zi realized he must have looked nervous, because Jack grinned. Not his sly, ‘I’m a bad boy detective and I might like that this mafia underboss is threatening me and seducing me at the same time’ grin, but his ‘my husband is adorable and I love him more than anything in the world’ grin. 

“I’ll just say I picked this shirt, because I wouldn't miss it,” Jack suggested, and it took a couple of seconds for Zhao Zi to catch up. 

Half in character and half out, Zhao Zi tugged on the end of Jack’s shirt, stretching the thinly woven cotton jersey. He thrust the knife through from beneath, piercing the fabric with the tip, and with one sweep, the knife rent through the cloth and all the way to the hem, leaving a jagged tear, with loose scraggly threads trailing on either side. 

Jack sucked in a sharp breath as Zhao Zi stared at the expanse of exposed skin, the firm, compacted bulk of Jack’s abdominal muscles an alluring range of valleys and ridges, enticing accents to the otherwise flat topography of his stomach. A track of dark hairs gathered beneath Jack’s belly button and led Zhao Zi’s eyes downward, but he resisted its pull, fearing this game would end too quickly if he succumbed to its gravity. He raised his eyes instead, to where Jack’s chest was still covered by the intact remains of the tee.

Zhao Zi considered how best to take care of the problem. Using Jack’s knife to slice upward, toward his husband’s face seemed like it could conceivably end with an embarrassing trip to the emergency room, so Zhao Zi opted for the old school, brute force option.

Jack’s arms had drifted downward to rest on Zhao Zi’s waist, a reassuring weight. But that wasn’t where he wanted them. “Hands back up,” Zhao Zi growled. 

Jack snapped his hands back aloft, which had the effect of pushing his shoulders back and his chest forward. Zhao Zi tried not to sputter, tried not to let show how easily Jack could tempt him.

Zhao Zi folded the blade of the butterfly knife back into its handle, and tucked it into the back pocket of his jeans for safe-keeping. “Don’t you dare move a muscle,” he warned, and in response Jack made his left pec twitch.

Insolent bastard. Zhao Zi thought it was the height of unfairness that his husband could even do that—pectorals weren’t supposed to move! Zhao Zi had acquired some definition since he and Jack had started hitting the gym together, but his musculature was never going to be what Jack’s was. 

“Is this how they train detectives to take their orders nowadays?” Zhao Zi asked, gripping fistfuls of Jack’s t-shirt on either side of the cut he had made. 

“Maybe I’m not very good at discipline,” Jack replied coolly, as Zhao Zi closed the remaining distance between them. “Or maybe I just don’t like taking orders from the mob.”

Zhao Zi frowned, theatrically. “That’s too bad, because I was hoping you’d make an exception just for me.” He gave the two halves of Jack’s t-shirt a sharp tug, and the rest of the garment separated, all the way up to the collar, where it stopped, the stretchy fabric and orthogonal stitching resisting Zhao Zi’s best efforts. 

But it didn’t matter. Zhao Zi hands dived hastily for Jack’s exposed chest, his satisfactory sigh almost audible as he dug his thumbs firmly into his husband’s muscles. He had to grope him hard, for any lighter touch would have sent Jack into another fit of giggling and squirming. That wasn’t a problem, so far as Zhao Zi was concerned—he liked squeezing Jack as hard as he possibly could. Pecs, nipples, shoulders, and… 

Zhao Zi’s wanderings were stopped by the sleeves of the t-shirt, still undamaged. “Off,” he commanded, wanting away with all obstacles between his hands and Jack’s flesh.

Jack smiled crookedly. “Give me a good reason to comply.”

‘You look ridiculous with a mostly-ripped t-shirt, an intact collar, and a leather jacket,’ was what Zhao Zi wanted to say, but it wouldn’t be as compelling to Detective Jack as it would be to Househusband Jack, who took certain pains to maintain a fashionable level of stylishness. Zhao Zi chose to brush his fingers at front of Jack’s trousers, confirming that his husband was still as rigid as ever. 

“I could just leave you here,” Zhao Zi said airily. “But then who’s going to take care of this?” He gave Jack an unsympathetic squeeze to emphasize his point. “And besides,” Zhao Zi pressed his crotch against Jack’s thigh. “Who’s going to take care of me?”

He nipped at Jack’s jaw, tugging on the taut skin with his teeth, grinding his hips against his husband and letting himself have a taste of the sweet friction his movements brought. “Off,” he said again, and this time Jack let him help. He pushed the leather jacket from Jack’s shoulders and practically ripped off the ruined t-shirt. 

Naked now from the waist up, Zhao Zi was free to run his hands along Jack’s shoulders. They were strong, solid, and just the feel of the flesh beneath his fingertips as he dug them in turned him on and made his cock stiffen even more. He let Jack wrap a hand around the back of his head and draw him close.

The kiss felt like a flashfire, alighting everything in Zhao Zi at once, consuming everything that had been screaming for Jack at all day, even before he had gone to lend Tang Yi and Ah-Fei a hand with their roleplay. It was the same searing, passionate kiss that they always given each other when they were so horny that nothing else mattered, and strangely, Zhao Zi liked that. 

They opened for each other willingly, smiling as their mouths crushed together. Jack tugged playfully on Zhao Zi’s lip, and the sensation melted him completely in his husband’s arms. Zhao Zi responded with equal enthusiasm, teasing Jack with tongue and teeth alike, until he heard a groan escape with Jack’s next exhalation. Zhao Zi redoubled his efforts, pleased that his husband’s eagerness matched his own. He wrapped his body around Jack’s, lifting a leg all the better to rut against him. 

It had been a few weeks since the last time they had spent so long making out downstairs without moving immediately into the bedroom. Zhao Zi smiled up at Jack, his grin half infused with awe at the force of their kiss, and half with the delight of what he was planning next. He glanced behind them to check if their curtains were drawn, more as a gesture of consideration toward the neighborhood and any innocent passersby, than any reluctance toward exhibitionism.

Jack began pushing off from the wall, perhaps to head upstairs, but Zhao Zi pinned Jack back. 

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“I thought there was something you wanted, Lao Zhao.”

“There is.” Zhao Zi eyed Jack intently. “But it’s a matter of process, you see. You have to prove to me you’re worthy.” Zhao Zi led Jack’s fingers to the waistband of his jeans. “Are you up to the challenge, Detective?”

Jack closed his eyes, pausing to take a deep breath before he responded. “I think you’ll find me more worthy than anyone else you’ve ever had.”

Zhao Zi felt his stomach flutter with anticipation as Jack made quick work of his button and fly. Strong hands gripped him by the hips and spun him. He let out a startled cry as the world tilted and then righted itself again, and he found himself pressed against the wall, and not Jack. 

“You let your guard down, Lao Zhao,” Jack smirked as he reached his hands beneath the elastic of Zhao Zi’s underwear and slid it, and his jeans, down to his knees.

Zhao Zi whined as his cock was freed. Jack was not touching him fast enough. 

Impatiently, Jack pushed up the hem of Zhao Zi’s shirt, which was getting in his way, and without a second thought, Zhao Zi took it off too. 

Jack’s gaze was glued to his body as he loosened his own trousers, and sank to his knees. Zhao Zi felt himself flush with the heat in his husband’s stare, and then every other thought he might have had was washed away by the deluge of pleasure as Jack took him in his mouth.

Ah, yes, this was why he was leaning against the wall, Zhao Zi thought dimly. He was already arching off the surface of it as Jack took him deeper in with each movement. Everything was sensation—the vivid heat of Jack’s mouth, the sharp suction that drew gasp over gasp from him, seemingly endless with its unrelenting rhythm. Zhao Zi let himself be swept away with the tide of pleasure, surrendering to the current that was Jack’s tongue sliding along his frenulum, before taking him to the hilt. 

Zhao Zi hadn’t even known he’d buried his hands in Jack’s hair until he forced his eyes open to watch his own length disappear into the slick confines of Jack’s throat. He tensed reflexively, tufts of Jack’s red hair sprouting from between his fingers. Jack looked up at him then, his mouth still full of cock, and if Zhao Zi had been close enough, he might have just come from Jack’s gaze alone. He moaned.

Jack’s response was to slow down, frustratingly the opposite reaction to what Zhao Zi wanted just then. He could’ve sworn that Jack was grinning too, probably the only person in the world who could smirk and give a good blowjob at the same time. What could he say? His husband was a man of many talents.

Pleasure swelled at the base of Zhao Zi’s belly, not a slow rise, but with sharp stuttered peaks, uneven ripples coaxed from the sensory scenery by the swirl of Jack’s tongue or the suction as he hollowed his cheeks. His body drew taut, his muscles frozen and tense as Jack mercilessly engulfed him in stimulation, his entire body suffusing with heady, desperate desire. 

For a moment, Zhao Zi forgot that he was playing a game, that he was acting a part in a scenario that his best friend had suggested, and he and Jack were continuing. It was just Jack knelt in front of him on the red tile, selflessly pleasuring him, even though Jack must be rock hard right about now. Jack’s hands were on his hips, wandering down to his ass, groping the flesh there with liberal, greedy squeezes. All his legs wanted to do were to turn to jelly. Maybe they ought to take this upstairs after all, Zhao Zi thought, even as the crest Jack was building inside of him would soon reach the point where he wouldn’t be able to turn it aside. He wanted nothing more than to have Jack even closer to him, to have Jack inside—

A gasp tore itself from his throat, a hoarse, strangled cry, as a pinprick shock of ecstasy burst across his body. Zhao Zi shuddered a second time as Jack brushed the pad of a finger across his sphincter, teasing just the perimeter. Zhao Zi moaned, and tried to push back against him for more contact, but Jack kept teasing, wandering the edges of the sensitive, striated muscle. 

Jack paused, sliding smoothly off Zhao Zi’s cock and looking up at him expectantly. “Well? Do I pass?”

“Yes,” Zhao Zi exhaled, before his brain had even properly registered the question. All he knew was that he wanted more of Jack, that a blowjob wouldn’t be enough to fill him. “Up,” Zhao Zi demanded breathlessly, kicking off his trousers and scrambling up the stairs. He imagined having Jack laid on the bed, sprawled naked before him. 

Jack had hardly set foot in the bedroom before Zhao Zi tackled him to the mattress. He yanked off the rest of Jack’s clothes in one hasty scrabble, and then climbed on top of him. Jack laughed, arranging himself on the bed, seizing pillows to prop up his head. 

Zhao Zi drank in the sight of Jack’s naked form, the chiseled contours of his pectorals, the sculpted lines of shoulders and biceps. His skin was smooth, dotted pleasingly with a few small, dark moles and only marred by the occasional, pale scar. Straddling Jack’s legs, Zhao Zi brushed the largest one with a thumb, puckered tissue stretched over the bones of his ribs, the jagged memory of a bullet that had once grazed Jack’s left side. 

Roaming the topography of Jack’s body, Zhao Zi moved upward to Jack’s nipple, giving it a nuzzle, inhaling the light musk of Jack’s scent, and then giving it a nip with his teeth. Jack groaned, clamping his hands about Zhao Zi torso, moving downward with firm caresses. When Jack got to his ass, palming it and groping it generously, the pleasure drove Zhao Zi wild. 

They kissed again, hot and fervent, seizing each other. Zhao Zi plunged into his husband’s arms, pouring the desire saturating his body into rocking movements, into the sound of his moans, into the fingers which clamped so tightly about Jack’s shoulders they almost bruised. They rutted against each other, seeking fulfillment of their primal urges, wanting only the raw friction of their skin, the crush of their mouths, the twist in their groins as their cocks slid against muscle and flesh.

Zhao Zi’s back stiffened when he felt something cool press against his opening again—Jack’s fingers, slick. When had Jack found the lube? Zhao Zi’s train of thought never got as far as the answer, before he was pushing back against the intrusion, letting Jack slip inside him with ease. He licked his lips, lids heavy as he met Jack’s gaze, his wantonness an unconscious tease, as he couldn’t help but ride to Jack’s fingers as hungrily as he would have ridden Jack’s cock.

Zhao Zi clung onto control savagely, not wanting to come until he had the satisfaction of Jack spreading him. His husband did not protest, when Zhao Zi reached behind him, grasping Jack’s length, and giving it a few, experimental pumps. Jack shuddered, and that made Zhao Zi grin as he leant back and positioned the tip against himself. He had to pause, close his eyes, and take a deep breath before lowering his weight, lest he climax at the worst possible time.

The ecstasy was almost painful in its sharpness, so potent that it threw into stark relief the dullness of the pleasure from just moments ago. Nothing compared to the sensation of being impaled—Jack’s arousal filling him, Jack’s chiseled form laid bare beneath him. Their kisses, Jack’s blowjob, even Jack’s fingers, as skillful as they were, could hardly hold a candle to the crude power of this type of stimulation, of which he was in full control.

Zhao Zi moved his hips, not taking his time but throwing himself into the cadence, launching into it as a sprinter launches forward at the crack of the starting shot. He paid no heed to the rhythmic thudding of the headboard against the wall, nor the throaty cries that rose quickly between them. He braced both hands on Jack’s chest as he rolled his hips furiously, drinking in the sight of Jack’s pectorals, the rippling tension of his abs as they found a rhythm together, Jack’s upward thrusts meeting Zhao Zi right at the nadir of each gyration. Jack gripped his hips firmly, steadying him, and that only made Zhao Zi fuck harder.

It was maddening to be able to see the bunching of Jack’s shoulders, the quivering strain in his trapezius. Jack hissed and raised his head from the pillows, as if wanting to kiss or bite Zhao Zi somewhere, but being unable to reach. Zhao Zi was similarly frustrated—he imagined the firmness of Jack’s deltoid if he clamped down on it with his teeth, but he couldn’t bite Jack and and ride him at the same time. 

One of those two would have to wait, Zhao Zi decided, a slow smile spreading across his face, as he felt his pleasure begin to heighten, an impossible pressure locked in his body, beating wildly against him for release. Zhao Zi lowered his chin and met Jack’s gaze, seeing nothing but an untamable, incandescent desire burning within his husband. His skin prickled as Jack wrapped a hand around his cock and pumped it in time to their bodies rutting with blissful abandon.

The sounds they made crescendoed, their gasps and groans echoing off the ceiling until the mounting pressure inside Zhao Zi’s finally burst, a shockwave of pleasure that locked his muscles as he twisted and shuddered in its throes, releasing wave after wave of warm fluid onto Jack’s stomach and chest. Even though he had stilled, Jack was still driving into him, careening toward his own completion, each jerk of his pelvis flooding Zhao Zi anew with ecstasy. Just as Zhao Zi emptied his last, he felt Jack tense and climax too, with a low, strangled moan. 

Zhao Zi sat back, catching a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding as Jack still twitched beneath him. He was steeped in afterglow, the pleasant, heavy ruin of a powerful orgasm. It took a few moments before he could find enough energy to lift himself off of Jack’s softening member, and kneel between his legs, splayed out to either side. He did his best to mimic a predatory smile, even though it probably looked sated and dopey, and moistened his lips with his tongue.

“Like what you see, Lao Zhao?” Jack asked lightly.

Zhao Zi nodded. He had completely lost the plot of their roleplay—what were they supposed to be doing again? Where was this supposed to be? But he didn’t care. He stared at the mess he made of Jack’s perfect torso, and even though he had already had dinner he asked, “Give me something to eat?”

Jack chuckled and let Zhao Zi have his fill. 

Zhao Zi bent down, laving his tongue across Jack’s abdomen and the planes of his pectorals, leaving no drop of seed behind. Jack tasted salty and musky, tinged with the suggestion of leather and gunsmoke. When he finished, Zhao Zi stretched upward for Jack’s mouth, but paused there, teasingly close, and made his husband cross the final distance between them. 

Zhao Zi felt Jack’s touch at the base of his neck as they kissed, stirring the last, sputtering embers of their passion, until it finally cooled. Then, they collapsed into bed, so exhausted they could barely go through the motions of clean up. 

When they were done, Zhao Zi rested his head in the crook of Jack’s shoulder, almost dozing off, even though the lights were still on.

“So where did we end up?” Jack asked.

“Hm?” Zhao Zi blinked sleepily.

“Story-wise. So Detective Jack and Underboss Zhao just had mind-blowing sex in a safehouse or someplace. What happens to them after that?”

Zhao Zi thought for a moment. “How about...Underboss Zhao sees the error of his ways, turns informant, quits the gang, and then eventually marries Detective Jack and they live happily ever after?”

Jack wrinkled his nose. “I dunno, that doesn’t sound like a very realistic ending to me.”

Zhao Zi grinned, wrinkling his nose right back at Jack. “Depends on how well plotted it is. We’re going to plan what happens very, very carefully.”

“It might take quite a few...episodes for them to get there.”

“Precisely,” Zhao Zi nodded sagely. They met each other’s eyes and broke into giggles.

When the mirth died back down, Zhao Zi settled back into his husband’s embrace, and let Jack cuddle him to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> I would like to thank [wrote_and_writ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wrote_and_writ) for the beta and her willingness to work to short turnaround times, for which I am deeply grateful. I would also like to thank [clevermanka](https://archiveofourown.org/users/clevermanka/pseuds/clevermanka) for the inspiration—it was a truly evil move for her to add Jack and Zhao Zi into [Playing Cops and Robbers](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23117341), and this was the result. 
> 
> Many thanks as well to the entirety of the [HIStory3_Trapped Dreamwidth Community](https://history3-trapped.dreamwidth.org/), without which this idea, and clevermanka’s idea, may never have seen the light, and also to the [Trapped](https://h3trappedcollection.tumblr.com/) [Fanfic/Fanart Collection](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/Trapped_FanficFanart_Collection) for throwing out prompts and challenges every month. I need external deadlines or nothing ever gets done.


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